Good Boy
by RandomRyu
Summary: Jack is exhausted, so he decides to shield himself from any enemies and dangers in the corner of Arcadia, hoping for some rest. Atlas asks him for a certain favor that's strange and sudden, but Jack finds that he can't refuse.


Jack trudged through the muck filled water that went up to his calves, holding his pistol firmly in one hand and a palm full of electricity in the other. He had his service radio strapped to his belt for easy access, for he could simply pull it off with one hand and press the button or simply press the button and leave it hanging off of his petite hips. Either way he could hear Atlas speaking with that thick, smooth accent of his through the speakers of the radio, the audio a bit crackly though understandable.

Jack proceeded up a few boards that were draped on a slant, leading back up to the wooden floor above the water; carefully treading the material and making sure not to step too hard and the whole structure collapse under him. It was when he was up on (mostly) solid wood that he let out a sigh of relief, still holding his pistol tightly in his fist and clenching the other often as he felt electricity spark through his veins.

The sickly sweet, musty smell of trees hit his nose and he made his way into the main forest-like area of Arcadia, keeping an eye out for splicers and big daddies that may be wandering throughout the area. The greenery, the grass under his feet, felt odd against the bottom of his worn out shoes; the feeling of grass almost alien from being in Rapture for longer than he planned to. The smell of bark and leaves had permeated his senses, making him almost light headed. Even so, it was a welcome change from the usual cold, headache inducing smell of the rest of the underwater city; blood, rust, and decaying corpses. And Jack was honest with himself here, he would rather breath in the air of odd trees than catch a whiff of a body that's been decaying for months on end without cleanup or being acknowledged. It was disgusting, yes, but it had become the norm in Rapture to see corpses littering the street and blood pooling in the cracks of tiles of walls and floors. Murder was also the norm, and Jack was used to killing at this point. It bothered him, the thought that these spliced up creatures were regular human beings once, but he had to stop thinking about that. It wouldn't help him in the least in this city that went to hell.

The crackle of the service radio snapped him from the daze he was in, making him become alert and snap to attention of his surroundings; holding his pistol high and aiming it into the midst of the trees and greenery.

"Boyo," Atlas' voice flowed through the radio on Jack's hip, hitting his ears. "You doin' alright, there? You've been real quiet." Jack couldn't help but sigh and lower his weapon, though still keeping his ears open for any odd sounds or groans if they sounded around him.

He grabbed his pistol with his left hand, feeling the tingle of electricity running through his veins and through the metal as it rested firmly in his palm. With his right hand, he reached down and unhooked the radio from his belt, raising it to his lips and pressing the button to speak.

"I'm here, Atlas." Was all he could muster, his voice low so he didn't alert any splicers or such of his presence; making his way into a far corner surrounded in shrubbery, shielding him from view of any passersby. An audible sigh of relief came from the radio.

"Thank god. I thought somethin' had happened to ya." The man sounded relaxed and less tense than the moment before, which made Jack relaxed in return, for some reason. When Atlas was angry or anxious, Jack was angry or anxious. When Atlas was content, Jack was content. When he was relaxed, Jack was relaxed. For Jack had attached himself to this man that he knew almost nothing of nor have seen him in person, clinging onto any social contact that he had down here in this insane, run down utopia.

"No, no- I'm fine. Just a bit tired." Again, Jack whispered into the radio, not wanting to give himself away to any threats. He usually didn't talk back to Atlas or have conversations with him, since he thought of talking as a dead giveaway to his position and give those spliced up maniacs the open invitation to attack him with bullets and pipes. So he usually just kept his lips sealed and if he really had to talk, he whispered almost inaudibly to the point where he had to repeat himself over and over, which was tedious and frustrating.

"Ya sound it, Boyo. I would tell ya to get some sleep, but I don't know a safe place to rest in the area yer in." Another sigh, and Jack could hear the man shifting in his seat. The brunette had crouched down at this point, sitting on the soft grass with his knees halfway pulled up to his chest; pistol resting beside his thigh and other hand still holding the radio up to his mouth.

"Where are ya in Arcadia right now?" Atlas suddenly questioned, making Jack jump slightly.

"Uh...there's trees. A lot of trees." Jack tried his best to describe where he was, though he just sounded delusional and idiotic. "It smells like flowers and it's...misty. I'm hiding in a bush. Hopefully no one….or thing...sees me." His voice was barely audible over the faraway and close noises of the area; the beeping of security cameras and turrets, conversations of spliced up maniacs, and the groans of metal men watching over small children.

"Can't really tell where ya are, but it's good that yer out of sight." Jack held the radio closer to his ear, the volume of the speakers on almost the lowest possible setting. "Can you do me a favor, boyo?" He suddenly asked after a moment of silence passed between them.

"What?" Came Jack's almost instant response, raising an eyebrow; wondering what job this man had for him now.

"Place yer radio down beside ya. Not too far, so ya can still hear me."

Jack did as told, placing the service radio next to his other thigh, safely on the grass. He hummed, giving a sign he had done so.

"Good, now would ya kindly place yer hand on yer crotch?" The man's voice had lowered a pitch, almost a purr. It was a strange request, but Jack found that he couldn't refuse as his hand unaltered by plasmids lowered to his lap, merely resting there until further notice. He said nothing.

"Now- Would ya kindly touch yerself? Rub yerself through yer trousers." Atlas' voice, was low, sultry. His breathing was a bit erratic, as Jack could hear through the small speakers of the radio.

As those words left Atlas' lips and flowed through the radio, Jack couldn't help the surge of arousal that pumped through his body; doing as told and pressing his palm against his crotch and massaging himself through his worn out, sullied pants. His breathing hitched as he felt the sensation of the coarse fabric against his cock, though he couldn't stop the way he grew hard under his own touch, remembering that command spoken in such a purr with a thick, smooth Irish accent.

"Good boy. Keep goin'." The blonde praised Jack, only making the man squirm slightly and tremble. By now, Jack's cock was straining against his pants, making him bite his lip to hold in any moans that would slip from his throat. His eyes stayed trained on his hand moving over himself, awaiting his next command. No matter what he did,he found that he couldn't stop the movement of his hand or simply halt his actions. Those invisible strings still worked over his arms, making him continue with this 'favor.'

Part of him wondered if Atlas could see him. Not at the moment, but when he's wandering Rapture and finding his way through the disheveled, murky hallways of the city. When he's killing splicers, saving those poor little girls, and raiding bodies for health and ADAM. There was a high possibility that he could, since he knew where the boy was all the time, calling him out on objects and such in the area and pointing him towards his goal. It helped Jack even more than Atlas' voice pushing him along and guiding him through the maze-like city, but made him feel paranoid at the same time.

Jack could feel his hands trembling, still working himself through the fabric of his pants. He breathed heavily through his nose, and he could faintly hear the same type of breathing through the speakers of the radio.

"Now, I want ya to unzip yer trousers. Stroke yerself for me, would ya kindly?" Atlas' voice hitched here and there, though it still maintained that enticing, attractive tone that it usually held. A rustle of fabric could be heard from Atlas' side, along with a muffled groan that made Jack release one of his own, though more pathetic sounding than the blonde's.

Again, he watched as his hands undid his pants, fumbling with the zipper and pushing down his underwear only to free his cock; shuddering at the feeling of cold air hitting his flesh. The head rested against his bedraggled seater, pre-come leaking from the tip and only sullying it further. His right hand wrapped around the shaft, beginning to stroke himself at a slow pace; the rough feeling of dryness scraping his sensitive flesh thanks to nothing to slicken his touch. The burn didn't register much, for the overwhelming, pulsing feeling of pleasure sparked up his spine and made him buck his hips slightly, his head tilting back to rest against the brick wall behind him; lips parted in a gasp and shiny with spit. The boy's eyes fluttered closed tightly, getting lost in the area of pleasure, though still keeping his ears open for any requests from the man behind the radio.

"Good boy." Came Atlas' voice, finally, filling Jack's ears and making him quiver. "Go on, moan fer me, Jack. Moan for Daddy."

Jack didn't know why, but what the man had said, the praise, and oh, what he called himself, made Jack tremble and gasp, his hand working faster on his cock and his other hand's fingers working into the soil; searching for an anchor to keep him hanging on to reality.

A cluster of moans seemed to flow from his lips at once, all accumulating into one loud, lusty groan that would have alerted anyone to his presence by now. Even though that damned phrase wasn't used, the boy was urged on and his arousal inflamed to the point that he felt that his skin was on fire and his clothes burning hot.

"Go on, Jack. Moan fer me, say ma name, would ya kindly." Atlas seemed to growl this demand, sounding as if he was speaking through clenched teeth. "Ya don't come till I say so, ya got that? Not until Daddy tells ya."

Jack whimpered pathetically, writhing on the spot. Soil gathered under the nails of his left hand and seeped into the cuts there, the electricity sparking through his veins intensely as he inched closer and closer to orgasm. His right hand was almost a blur, working on his cock; his thumb swiping over the slit at the head now and then to make the movement easier, slick.

"Atlas, ah-" He whined, bucking up into his fist. "Atlas, Daddy, o-oh god…" He was nearly incoherent at this point, repeating the man's name over and over along with cries of "Daddy" etched in every other exclamation. Nothing around him registered to his senses. The beeping of cameras and turrets were long gone along with the eerie, soft songs sung by little sisters; the groans of big daddies and the complaining of splicers. Even the feeling of the smooth grass and soil underneath him didn't translate. Only Atlas' captivating tone and charming accent and the pleasure covering his whole body like a heavy blanket existed to Jack at the moment; they were the only things that mattered.

Jack was close, oh so close to release, and felt as though he was going to burst at any second now.

"Please, Daddy, oh, god, Atlas- please!" He begged, nearly screaming the man's name.

"Go on- come."

It was all that Jack needed to hear to tense up almost to the point of pain, his hand stilling on his cock as his back arched and his head hit the bricks behind him; come spilling over his fist and splattering over the front of his sweater. He could swear that he had called out "Atlas" or "Daddy" when he came, but it didn't matter. In the midst of his orgasm, he could hear Atlas praising him and telling him how he was a good boy and how good he did.

It felt like hours before Jack had come down from his orgasmic high, having slumped down into a heap; his chest rising and falling with slow, stuttering breaths. His senses came back to him one by one, and he glanced around with his still foggy gaze, taking in the surroundings of trees and bushes; blood and the smell of decay. His cock was still resting against his sweater, now soft and resting in clumps of cooling come. It was Atlas' voice that had snapped him back to reality.

"Thank ya, boyo. Ya did a good job." Atlas chuckled, that damn charming voice sending little aftershocks of pleasure up Jack's spine and tingle through his veins. "Now, would ya kindly clean yourself up? You have'ta get on goin' to look for Julie Langford."

Jack didn't utter a word as he tucked himself back into his pants, only smearing the mess of come into his sweater rather than cleaning it as he tried to wipe it off of himself. His arms, guided by invisible strings of a puppeteer, grabbed the radio and his pistol, pulling himself to his feet and continuing on silently as if nothing had happened.


End file.
